Charmed: The Magic Cup
by Black-Coffee-Two-Sugar-Please
Summary: "Don't you dare dress me like a whore!" Molly shouted furiously, " I swear I will get a butterfly on your butt!" [Prompt fill for Sherlock/Molly Bodyswap] [Re-open!] [Set after s1, Could be read as AU]
1. Prologue

The Magic Cup

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes (BBC) or anything related is not mine. This is just a fic for fun. Everything in this fic is not real.

Summary: "Don't you dare dress me like a whore!" Molly shouted furiously, " I swear I will get a butterfly on your butt!" Written for the prompt asking for Sherlock and Molly bodyswap

Author's note: Many thanks to propoise-song for remarkable patience with my silly fic. You are my angel. 

Prologue

As a magic cup, you have been worshiped, cherished and sacrificed for centuries. Human knelt down before you begging for your mercy and out of the kindness of your heart, you satisfied their every wish.

Then bang! Apocalypse!

So, with that, you travelled back in time and changed history instead. You swear you would not interfere with humans again or else you would leak tea forever.

Among those long, quiet and tedious years, you had met many interesting folks. You still remembered a young ambitious medic called Dr. Arthur Conan Doyle, who later became a very successful writer.

In the modern twenty-first century, you met Sherlock Holmes.

You started to fell itchy. After all these years playing low-pitched, you really wanted to have some fun and having fun shouldn't be counted as "interfere with humans" now, should it?

It was just a small, simple, harmless, and temporary spell. What harm could it have done?

Molly Hooper poured coffee into you, added two spoonfuls of sugar, and handed you to Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Today was a big day for Molly. A year after the whole "Jim" incident, she finally had the nerve to go out on a date again. She was determined that nothing could ruin her date this time, not even that bloody git (otherwise known as Sherlock Holmes).

So, here she was. Sitting in a fabulous restaurant, dressed in an expensive dress which she was definitely going to return to the store later because she simply could not afford it. She smiled and nodded at her date who was talking about something she had not the foggiest about.

This was definitely not her. The real her would probably end up being found alone and dead in a wheel chair covered in unpaid cable bills and half eaten by Toby's great grandkids.

No, wait! They wouldn't eat her. They would have abandoned her by then.

Still, Molly felt like she had a chance. Actually her date was quite nice. In comparison to past boyfriends and dates, this one was going by smashingly. Hosmer Angel was a accountant in an office on Leadenhall Street. He seemed a few years older than her, and was about five feet, seven inches in height. He had swollen complexion, bushy whiskers, and moustache. His black hair reminded Molly of Sherlock and his soft voice reminded her of Moriarty. Those thoughts caused her gooseflesh so she dismissed them immediately.

No, no more Sherlock or Jim. Her life didn't center Sherlock and she was her knight in shining armor. She could only rely on herself these days.

"Do you like classic music? I love it. I always think that pop is for people with no taste". Hosmer Angel said condescendingly while cutting his steak.

"I couldn't agree more." Molly lied through her teeth although a little voice in the back of her brain shouted to hurl the steak at this arrogant apeman.

Sherlock was arrogant, but in a cute way. He was more haughty, like Mr. Darcy. He was also not at all hairy.

Why was she thinking about Sherlock again?

"Really? I'm so lucky to meet you." Hosmer Angel said in a cheering tone.

Molly wanted to say she was "lucky", too.

She blinked.

If this was a movie or a TV show, there would be detailed closed-up of her blinking eyes in slow motion. However, this is not fictional. Just during the half second, everything looked…different.

The next thing she knows, somehow she's teleported to a warehouse with a gun in her hand.

She blinked once again. The man in front of her had a knife around John's neck. His face was twisted in ugly anger and, although there was a knife to his throat, John was somehow keeping his face calm.

She blinked twice. No, this was not an illusion. The image of the strange man threatening John didn't go away.

"What?" Molly had no idea what was going on. She was just in an elegant restaurant a moment ago! Now she was pointing a gun at a man. Life was obviously too dramatic for her. She was frozen.

"I said either he or I die." The man in front of her thought that she didn't hear clearly.

"OK…" Molly tried to figure out what to do.

Well, of course she had to save John. No matter what brought her here, she ended up in a position of shooting right now. Shooting seemed to be a good choice, the best option. However, there was a serious problem. She didn't know how to shoot at all. Maybe she should throw the gun onto the man's face and hope it would knock him out. She was good at throwing.

"Give me the diamond." The man looked desperate.

Molly knew that there was no time to hesitate.

Shoot first and ask questions later.

She took a deep breath and aimed at the kidnapper.

She pulled the trigger.

The gunshot was immediately followed by John's cry. John fell down to the ground.

Oh shit.

* * *

><p>Today was a typical day for Sherlock. His experiment was sequestrated by John after triggering the fire alarm at two o'clock in the morning. His violin was taken again by John after a neghibor called the police at 3:45 a.m. John got up for a third time at 4:00 a.m., albeit not Sherlock's fault this time, to go to the loo.<p>

After harassing Lestrade for five hours, Lestrade finally filled him in with the latest details of the jewelry theft. Although he was tuning them out, he overheard some of John and Molly's insipid conversation as he analyzed chemicals from the safe.

"How are you doing?" John asked.

John always held too much sympathy. He never understood where it came from.

"Good." Molly brought John a cup of tea and him a cup of coffee "I have a date tonight.", she said with barely contained joy.

Sherlock sipped and frowned.

The coffee tasted funny.

"Really?" A surge of happiness went through John. "What's he like?"

"Well… Melisa introduced him —uh, his name is Hosmer Angel and he's an accountant…"

Dull. What's the use of an accountant anyway?

"He was married once. But they divorced due to generation gaps." Molly was trying to remember what her friend  
>had told her. "I think he takes the marriage thing seriously. That's good, right?"<p>

John nodded.

"Statistically, divorce rate of first marriage only differed from that of second marriage by three per cent." Sherlock mumbled watching his microscope.

John shot him a glance which after daily practise Sherlock now understood as "shut up".

Molly ignored Sherlock's comment and focused her attention on John. "He's also very funny."

"Funny? Even I can be funny", Sherlock added reagent to the dish.

Coincidently John and Molly both thought of Sherlock's comments on Anderson:

"He dragged the whole block's IQ down by two percent."

"He can take your IQ down to his level and beat you with experience."

"Anderson? The monkey?"

John was the first one to finish running those flashbacks. "Right." He coughed. "Good luck with your date, Molly!"

In the afternoon, everything went according to plan. Sherlock and John ran through London chasing the thieves. John got kidnapped, not by the thieves, but by Mycroft. Sherlock waited for fifteen minutes in which he bought new suits using Mycroft's credit cards. As they were going back to the track, they had to take a detour— e.g. having to drive into a theatre— with the theives shooting behind them. The audiences clapped hands, as Sherlock jumped onto the second car and tore one man's AK47 away. Sherlock waved and gave a little bow missing the bullets from behind. Nothing was too chaotic, indeed.

And so, here he was, last step to success.

Unfortunately, John was taken hostage and all Sherlock had in his possession was a diamond worth two million pounds and a pistol. How could a diamond compare with John's life? John could make tea, buy milk and deal with awkward, useless, but important social situation. The only thing a diamond could do was sitting there and look pretty.

He aimed his sights at the kidnapper and prepared to shoot.

He blinked and, before he realized what happened, he was surrounded by food, laughterr and people.

"Molly," the man in front of him looked concerned, "Are you alright?"

Sherlock was confused. But Sherlock was Sherlock. His clothes felt pressing and he had no memories of reaching here. His hard drive showed no record for this man who seemed determined that he was Molly. He quickly ruled out the possibilities of getting high, going insane, and Mycroft's revenge. He glanced down at his now present breasts and realized what just happened.

He and Molly body swapped.

"Molly, can you hear me?" The man waved his hand in front of Sherlock.

So he must be Hosmer Angel. Sherlock thought sardonically.

"Drop it." Sherlock gave him a hard stare, "Your whiskers and moustache is clearly a disguise and your voice is soft so that your real voice will never be recognised. Even your eye color is not real. Your wear contacts. You're trying so hard to hide your identity therefore, Molly must know you in person and you really don't want to have a relationship. This is Molly's first date this year and Molly values it very much. Her 'friend', Melisa knows it too. So, why would you recommend someone you know is insincere to a dear friend? Conclusion, you wanted her date to crash and burn so that she'll always be around and eager to please because you are the only person she has. But you have to make sure that person could never be with her. That person should be someone you trust. Who can be more trustworthy than a husband? You must be Melisa's husband." Sherlock checked contacts on Molly's phone quickly, " James Windibank.", he said slowly as he slipped the mobile back in Molly's handbag.

The man's jaw fell in shock.

Sherlock stood up and stormed out.

* * *

><p>The kidnapper was clearly surprised by the change as well. He released John and ran off after he realized John would only be an encumbrance.<p>

The police soon appeared thereafter and arrested the kidnapper. The medics rushed to check John. John was curling on the ground and holding his foot in pain.

John let his arms down enough for Molly to notice that he was smiling at her weakly. Molly read John's lips._Thank you._

Thank you? She could have killed him!

A rush of emotions came to the fore. Molly felt lucky that John was not killed but fekt guilty that John was shot. If Sherlock was here, he would not have made make such a mess.

Where was Sherlock?

That was when Molly realized her hands looked strange and her clothes were uncomfortable. She touched her face. It wasn't hers.

"The criminal wouldn't take a hostage who can't move", Sally snorted, "Risking hostage's life? How typical, Freak."

Molly was befuddled. Why was Sally treating her like Sherlock? She never offended Sally. Sherlock did.

Lestrade gave Sally a warning look and turned to Molly, " I'll see you at the Yard, Sherlock."

Sherlock? Why was she being called Sherlock?

Her mobile—technically Sherlock's—rang.

She answered and was immediately greeted by her own voice hissing:

"What the _hell _are you doing in my body?"

Now there was a question she wanted answered, along with "How the hell does my voice sound so sexy?"


	3. Chapter 2

Many thanks to lovely propoise-song.  
>This chapter is looking from John`s angle so "Sherlock" isn't Sherlock and "Molly" isn't Molly.<p>

* * *

><p>Chapter Two <p>

John Watson had been thinking that after one-year on the battlefield and an equally dangerous one-year with Sherlock Holmes, there would be nothing to surprise him. He had known the feeling too well. Compared to being shot in the shoulder, attacked by circus clowns, blown up by a gay criminal mastermind, almost torn to pieces by a feral hound, and nearly becoming a midnight snack to a scary snake, he should have seen this coming. A shot in the foot was just a piece of cake.

John lied on the bed enjoying the view of the young and gorgeous nurse stooping down to pick up a bit of plaster she had accidently dropped.

No, this was not harassing. He was a gentleman but it didn't mean he couldn't have some eye candy from time to time. Even Sherlock, the one who claimed "I'm married to my work", was caught peeking a glance at a pretty bird once, though he claimed "It was purely for experimental purpose." John had highly doubted it.

Speaking of the devil, Sherlock entered the room closely following Molly. The blonde nurse smiled at them and left.

To John, something was definitely wrong. Sherlock looked...

…so human.

"I'm so sorry that I shot your foot", Sherlock said.

Was that guilt? John was not sure.

"You rescued me. You shot me on purpose, right? To avoid him running away?" John ripped a banana and took a bite. His last sentence muffled by his chewing.

"Of course", Sherlock muttered.

Somehow irritated, Molly coughed, "John, there's something…"

"That you need to know", Sherlock interrupted, unwillingly to let Molly talk.

"Oh my god." John instantly thought of the worst thing he could have imagined. "Please don't tell me you are officially out of the closet." He facepalmed, "No, no, no. Though I'm flattered, I'm straight. Thank you very much." John said all the words in the fastest speed.

"What? No!" Molly denied.

"I've had this suspicion for a long time. Sherlock himself didn't even deny." John turned to Molly with sympathetic look and took another bite of the banana. "Molly, I know it must be very hard for you to accept that since you have had a huge, obsessing and hopeless cru—"

Sherlock stopped John before John could pronounce "—sh" with something almost like screaming "I'm not Sherlock!"

John frowned, "What do you mean you are not Sherlock?"

Molly pointed to herself. "I'm Sherlock."

Staring at Molly's overwhelming eyes, John was quiet for a while. "I don't get it."

Sherlock pointed to himself then pointed to Molly. "I'm Molly. He…she…whatever is Sherlock." Sherlock elaborated.

"We switched bodies", Molly added, "for some unknown reason." Molly side-glanced Sherlock as if it was Sherlock's fault.

"OK." John seemed to understand and so he let out a chuckle, "Good job, guys. You almost fooled me."

"Bravo." John thought Molly was talking to him but seeing Molly sarcastically give Sherlock a thumbs up. "You really are _less_ socially-awkward than me."

If looks could kill, Molly would be drop dead in ten different ways. Sherlock pointedly rolled his eyes. "You're right." John thought Sherlock was talking to him, but then he noticed that Sherlock was looking at Molly. "I should have stuck to your plan."

Molly took one step forward, grabbed John's shoulders, and stared intensely at John, "Although I'm notorious for taking out my boredom out on the wall," John noticed somehow there was a sense of pride in her tone, "you were the one who shot a weeping face when you heard that Sarah was about to marry Harry." Hearing that, Sherlock's eyes widened. Unable to process the face of Sherlock with such a priceless response, John completely forgot about his half-eaten banana.

Molly kept proving her identity as if she was in a competition. "You didn't go to their wedding. Your reasons were entirely different from mine, but who'd want to go to such tedious, meaningless, and _dreadful_ social event?" Molly shrugged. "Instead, you spent the day with a stripper. Unfortunately, the stripper later turned out to be Clara. So you two got so soused that Clara started to teach you how to strip in Mrs. Hudson's bras and knickers…"

"Alright, that's enough", John growls out with a wave of a hand to cover the steady and bright reddening of his cheeks. "So you two really swapped bodies? Not just taking the piss out of me?"

"Yes; bodies seem to be functionally normally despite a noticeable increase in adrenaline", the real Sherlock answered. "If I wasn't a party directly affected, I would say something like 'fascinating'."

John was quiet for a few seconds. So, "Sherlock" wasn't Sherlock and "Molly" wasn't Molly. He had underestimated life's twisted sense of humor.

"Well… do you two know how to change back?"

The real Molly sighed, "No, there seems to be no premonitory or anything unusual. I was on my date and Sherlock was on his case."

"Wait." A varying degree of realization flashes over John's face, "So you…"

"Yes, it was her. And no, she wasn't aiming at you." Sherlock knew exactly where John was going.

"I'm really sorry, John", Molly couldn't stop apologizing.

"He'll live", Sherlock said dismissively as he pulled out his mobile.

John looked at Sherlock, then at Molly, and then back at Sherlock. He chuckled. "Wow, seeing Sherlock so caring and Molly so bitchy really opens my eyes."

Sherlock shrugged. "Molly and I will pretend to be each other. The situation is already chaos. The last thing I want is Moriarty to feel neglected and wanting to play games again."

John had to agree. The bodyswap thing was too sudden and...strange. Before they figure out why they switched and how to switch back, they really shouldn't do anything. Who knew what might happen? What if Sherlock and Moriarty swapped bodies? Moriarty _did_ like poking his nose into everything related to Sherlock. Surely Moriarty wouldn't mind having a free ride on Sherlock.

"So, I will pick you up tomorrow morning, like normal, Sherlock will go to St Bart's", Molly suggested to John.

"Oh, yes. I'm going to have _so _much fun…" Sherlock grinned but saw Molly's eyes harden, "…I mean I'm going to work _so _hard and not get into trouble."

There was a knock on the door and the blonde nurse poked her head in. "It's late. You should probably let him rest."

Sherlock didn't move and murmured something saying that John's wound wasn't bound up properly, like a child who was told playtime was over. Maybe Sherlock wasn't aware but in Molly's body it was obvious that he was in the pouts. Molly took a deep breath, grabbed him by his arm, and dragged him outside.

The nurse came in and checked John's wound.

"Hi." John flashed a dazzling smile at her, "I'm John. What's your name?"

* * *

><p>Lying on a pink bed in a pink room with Toby, Sherlock just stared at the ceiling and counted much longer before the sun would rise. He was bored as hell.<p>

Why was Molly so obsessed with pink? Why couldn't she be obsessed with death and fill her room with skulls and skeletons instead of Hello Kitty? She was a pathologist for god's sake.

Frustrated, Sherlock sat up and decided to do something. Toby meowed at the sudden loss of warmth.

Sherlock carefully examined the room. On the bookshelf, there were a lot of novels, mostly whodunits, in alphabetic order. Sherlock picked up one in random, scanned a few pages, before throwing it down in lost interest. He strolled into the bathroom, his bare feet echoing through the silent flat. The bathroom was clean and practically designed. He later found some incenses and a bottle of foaming soap.

Dull. Sherlock felt disgusted by the idea of a bubble bath. It was so girly that even John wouldn't use them, not to mention bubble bath's low effectiveness at cleaning. A normal woman might try it to refresh but being in a female body didn't mean he had to do all the female things.

Sherlock opened the bottle and sniffed. As much as he hated to admit, the lavender scent _did _smell nice.

Oh, what the hell? He thought throwing his hands in the air. He's never done this before and it would certainly ease the ennui.

He lit an incense. Mycroft wouldn't approve of this. Mycroft would poke him with a black umbrella and threatened to tell Mummy—along with everyone that Sherlock knew

No, he didn't mean to have a bubble bath. He just wondered what it might look like. Sherlock turned on the tap and added the smooth fluid. Bubbles filled the bath in a few minutes and each one reflected Sherlock's—in fact, Molly's—curious face on its rainbow-coloured spherical surface.

He stuck a finger to one bubble. It burst within a blink.

Sherlock chuckled. Every reflection of Sherlock smiled. He put his whole hand into the bubbles. It was like touching…clouds? Sherlock corrected himself harshly, "Don't be silly." He observed bubbles closely. "You can't really feel clouds."

Considering the fact that he was wearing a bra now, it wouldn't be much girlier if he soaked in bubbles. What harm could bubbles do? They seem so safe.

Oh screw Mycroft! He was pretending to be Molly so he should do what Molly did and what Molly did was enjoy rubbish like this.

He took off the robe and stepped into the bath.

Amazing. He felt safe. Safer than he had felt in years. In fact, he felt like he did when he was younger when everything became too unbearable and his mother would comfort him with a cup of tea in her kitchen. The fact that he was surrounded with the smell of lavender added to it.

He wondered what else Molly did. Two hours later, when he finally got out of the bath when his skin began to get wrinkly, he ate the leftovers from the refrigerator.


	4. Chapter 3

My humor began to dry… Again, many thanks to kind propoise-song. XD 

* * *

><p>Chapter Three<p>

Life sucked and Molly understood this perfectly well. It first showed its devilish horn by giving Molly all kinds of not-the-best-boyfriend-of-the-year, e.g. fireman who set St. Bart's on fire to play hero, a drug dealer who hid ecstasy inside a body bag to transport, and a gun lover who gave her a GLOCK18 as a birthday gift. Apparently, those were not enough for Fate, that bitch, so she sent Molly the very, _very_ asexual you-know-who and the very, _very_ gay Glee/bomb-lover.

It wasn't until she and Sherlock swapped bodies that Molly realized how fucked up her life had been.

Sherlock got the extraordinary intelligence, the handsome looks, and the sexy voice. Molly knew some people were born lucky. Every time Sherlock acted like he was the only one in the room with a brain, Molly comforted herself that Sherlock must have a weakness somewhere, such as a small penis.

It turned out…No, not small at all, not even compared to all the penises she had seen…during autopsies.

Presently, at the moment, Molly was naked, staring into the mirror.

Molly had imagined that under the posh suit and shirt, Sherlock would look like a Greek statue, pale and flawless. The truth was that Sherlock had a scar on his abdomen which absolutely increased his virility along with six abdominal muscles. Sherlock's long legs seemed to go everywhere and look at the hip…

Molly turned left and spanked it.

…so tight and bouncy.

How could life be so bloody unfair?

A strong feeling of envy and fury crossed Molly's mind and she promptly took it out by spanking hard on Sherlock's the other half hip.

"The name's Sherlock." Molly imitated Sherlock's serious expression and tone "I am the world's only consulting…" Molly's hand flew through the air as if it held a riding crop "…dominant."

She even mocked the crack of the whip.

Molly knew she should blush, feel shameful, quickly get dressed, and pretend that she didn't stare at Sherlock's cock for one hour like a nymphomaniac. But, hey, who knew what Sherlock was doing with her body?

A small voice in her mind whispered _"He will test the shapes of wounds kitchen utensils can leave on you and put your head into a microwave."_

Molly shivered with fear. The image of herself putting her head into the pink microwave with Toby aside using his fuzzy claw to press the button frightened her.

While she put on the underwear, it suddenly occurred to her:

"Does this count as masturbating?"

* * *

><p>Sherlock wheeled out Mary Ann Nichols, forty-three years of age. Her face was bruised and she was reported as being stabbed in abdomen.<p>

"Oh, I remember her. She was found in the region where other muggings have also been reported. She struggled and probably got the mugger angry and hence killed her", Detective Inspector Lestrade recollected, so sure of himself.

Sherlock snorted.

"Excuse me?" Lestrade didn't expect Molly to behave like that.

"Sorry, I caught cold", Sherlock quickly explained. "The wound was clearly caused by a bullet."

"But there was no bullet or trace of gunpowder found." Lestrade had had the suspicion, too. But after searching around the crime scene and the report came out, he eliminated the possibility. "Also the blood at the crime scene had a radius more than one millimeter so it fell at medium speed so the cause of death must be stabbing."

"Look at the photo. Idi…" Sherlock stopped at that word and coughed, "Didn't it occur to you that the blood was too diluted?"

"Diluted? No…" Lestrade shook his head. Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave Lestrade a small test tube of blood. "Oh, I see what you mean. A bit diluted", he observed as he swished the blood around.

_A bit_? That was far more than _a bit_. Sherlock was _a bit_ frustrated. "For a wound which is two millimeter in radius, that's too diluted." Sherlock wondered how people couldn't see such obvious fact.

"What's that then? Not real blood? Not Mary Ann Nichols' blood?" Lestrade questioned. Sherlock could almost see many flows of theories flying through Lestrade's head. Unfortunately, none of them were correct.

"Mary Ann Nichols' blood had extra water." Sherlock handed Lestrade a test report. If Lestrade asked where Sherlock got the blood sample, Sherlock would blame "Sherlock" and Lestrade would leave innocent "Molly" alone and lecture naughty "Sherlock" for fifteen minutes. He didn't even have to lie.

"How come there was more water?" Lestrade still didn't get it. Sometimes Sherlock really wanted to smack on his head.

"With extra water, it was more than one millimeter. Without water, it was not." Sherlock warned himself that he was Molly now and Molly was patient. Still he couldn't help it when "It's a bullet which killed Mary Ann Nichols, not a stupid knife" exploded from his lips.

Lestrade eyed Sherlock, "You sound like Sherlock."

"Not the point!" Sherlock then wildly swung his arms. "An ice bullet you idiot!"

Ta da!

A light bulb dinged above Lestrade's head. "Yes, that does explain everything. Mary Ann Nichols was found immediately so the water hadn't evaporated. Good job, Molly!"

What? _Good job_? No "You've got to be kidding me, Sherlock"? Or "That's insane, Sherlock"? Not even a "Bollocks"?

How come being Molly make it easy for Lestrade to believe?

Sherlock didn't get that. Maybe he would ask Molly later along with where did she get that take-away he ate all last night. Hmm…

"There was also another victim, a Martha Tabram, found dead on the same day. She was shot once in the head and twice in the chest, but no bullet was found at the crime scene." Lestrade cupped his chin in thought. "Same murderer?"

That was new. Sherlock was now becoming very interested. "Maybe you should text Sherlock," Sherlock "kindly" and "coyly" suggested. "He's really adept at the strange cases ." He wasn't lying about that either.

"I'm not sure", Lestrade hesitated.

"You're willing to sacrifice a poor, innocent person 'cause you have too much pride? If you call Sherlock, the murderer will be caught. That's… the important thing, right?" Sherlock "accidentally" let Molly's voice slip although he honestly didn't believe in a word of the crap he said.

"You're right." Lestrade heaved out a defeated sigh. "Thank you for your assistance. See you, Molly." Lestrade walked out of the morgue with a wave.

Less than a minute later, Sherlock's mobile buzzed with an incoming text from Lestrade informing him the details of the case.

Being Molly obviously took much fewer efforts to persuade Lestrade.

Sherlock hummed in thought and started typing out a response.

* * *

><p>Molly picked up John at ten at the hospital. Seeing John back on walking stick really made Molly feel bad, but John seemed generally cheerful. Molly guessed it was because John had been in the military or had gotten used to getting injured since knowing Sherlock. She also suspected it had something to do with the telephone number she saw the nurse slip to John.<p>

"So…how's your first day as Sherlock?" John asked as he ducked into the cab.

"I cleaned up and threw away some of the dead penicillin cultures" _Also, I stared at Sherlock's naked body for hours before wearing your fluffy jumpers, particularly the teddy bear one and the reindeer one._

_You don't want to know what else I did to your jumpers, either._

"Change of plan. Sherlock is shopping on Oxford Street and he summons us", John told the driver to go to a different destination.

"What do you mean by _us_? Why do I have to go?" Molly originally planned to channel Sherlock by shooting the wall with the FN P90, which was a break-up gift from the gun-heavy boyfriend. She had wanted to do that for ages but her landlady wasn't as nice as Mrs. Hudson.

"Well…consider it as a chance to be Sherlock." John scratched his head.

She already _was _going to be Sherlock, but it's not like she really had a choice.

Molly heaved out a sigh. "Alright, fine."

As the taxi sped to Oxford Street, a plan formulated in Molly's mind.

She was going to be Sherlock, a better one.

* * *

><p>Taking the champagne dress that the shopping guide gave to him, Sherlock carefully observed it and shook his head.<br>"No, She…I look too pale."

John and Molly watched the shopping guide nod and run for another dress. A few seconds later, she ran back with a violet long dress. Sherlock frowned, "Do I look like a forty year old?" He dismissed the shopping guide with a curt wave of her hand.

"Sherlock?" John was bewildered, "What are you doing?" Molly's attention was caught by curious sights that other shop assistants shot at them.

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock didn't even pay John and Molly the courtesy of looking at them. "I'm shopping."

"_Why_ are you shopping?" Molly asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "Because you don't have serviceable clothes."

"I _have_ serviceable clothes." Molly drew herself up to her full height to seem confident.

"No, you don't." Even before digging through Molly's wardrobe, he thought that she had a horrible taste in fashion. Digging through her wardrobe only confirmed these assumptions, which was a pity as Molly _did _have a decent body actually looked biologically pleasant. She should be forbidden to touch those awful clothes again.

"Why do you need serviceable clothes?" John was still puzzled.

The shopping guide handed Sherlock a wine-red dress and Sherlock followed her into the dressing room while John and Molly waited by the door. "Lestrade gave me a case in which two victims were shot with ice bullets."

"Sounds fascinating, but that still doesn't explain the shopping." John frowned.

Sherlock had suddenly become strangely quiet.

"Sherlock", he sighed out in name, warily. John sensed something was not right, "Why do you need clothes for a case?"

"Why don't I? I can buy clothes. There's nothing illegal about clothes", Sherlock retorted defensively.

"Sherlock!" Ignoring other people's strange looks, John went into the dressing room and stood outside a compartment with hands on his hips. Molly looked around and gestured to the other people that she didn't know these two.

Sherlock hesitated. John would be mad and punish him with awful tea for a whole year.

"Sherlock!" John shouted, his voice clearly indicating his anger.

"The only link between two victims is that they both signed up for speed dating at the bar called 'Whitechapel'."

Immediately realizing what Sherlock was planning, John punched the door of the compartment. "You bastard."

Even on the threshold of possible death, Sherlock smirked in amusement. "You are aware that you punched the wrong door, right?"

After a few seconds of embarrassment, John knocked on the door, "Sorry, miss" and moved to the next door. He pointedly cleared his throat. "Have it occurred to you that you should discuss it with her?"

"I don't think that's necessary" Sherlock said airily. "_I'm _giving her full reign over my body"

"Really?" Molly squeaked rather too cheerfully.

"Being an assistant is one thing. Being bait is another." John kneaded his temple. "You can't just make a critical decision for other people", he shouted out.

"She's not the bait. I am." Sherlock tried to zip up the dress. What idiot designed zip at the back? It's so not practical.

"That's _her_ body! You're risking _her_ life!" John screamed.

"Actually I want…" Molly raised her hand.

"Quiet", Sherlock and John both said to.

"Okay", Molly obediently whispered with the same tone she always had when she ran to fetch Sherlock a cup of coffee.  
>She moved to the nearest couch and sat.<p>

"Since when do you care about her safety? You're the one who suggested taking her." Sherlock really thought John was a hypocrite sometimes.

"Excuse me." Molly waved to a shop assistant, "May I get a glass of water?"

"Firstly, I ASKED her, Sherlock, I fucking A-S-K her." John seemed to be on the edge. "Secondly, I can't go and you _will_ need her." The shop assistant gave her a glass of water and Molly drank it, thinking that Sherlock and John argued rather loudly.

"I still don't understand why you can't go." Sherlock lowered his head and tried to zip up forcefully. Oh God. The zip was trying to kill him.

"Because I'm injured." John sighed.

"No, not because of that." Sherlock released his hands from the zip and took a deep breath, "You're not going because you got a date that mediocre nurse. You can't at least _try _to come up with a better excuse."

"How…she…I…" John stammered. "Never mind. Molly is a pathologist and she can help you." John exhaled a breath to calm himself down, "Just be nice to her."

Sherlock didn't say anything. Why did John say that? He had been nice to Molly. In fact, he enjoyed Molly's company when she wasn't mooning over him like a damn schoolgirl. He held professional respect, he never insulted her (well intentionally), and he had considered Molly—not as his equal, of course—but as a highly successful test sample in human revolution. Another prosperous culture i.e. John was not as developed intellectually as Molly and was easily distracted with the whole issue of morality and tact. Under current circumstance, the second disadvantage was a blessing because whining John was barely tolerable.

Hey, look. It zipped up!

"John."

"Yes, Sherlock?" John stared straightly at the door in front of him.

"Are you still facing my door?"

"Yes, I am."

"Play some music."

"I forgot to bring my iPod."

"No, I mean play some music with your walking stick. Knock some rhythm."

"What?"

"Otherwise I will take your lovely lady to that speed date instead."

"This is ridiculous." John sighed and started to knock out '_We Will Rock You'_.

The door in front of John slammed open. A girl ran out with red cheeks and tried very hard to suppress a laugh, but failed.

"What?" John was shocked. He looked around and found Sherlock behind him, "Oh…I see…"

Just for a moment, Sherlock grinned wickedly. Wishing that he would not die young under a berserk walking stick, Sherlock's expression quickly returned to neutral.

"You look… nice." John said awkwardly.

Molly went in to see how "nice" "she" looked like.

"What do you think?" Sherlock turned around.

Molly's eyes widened and pointed to Sherlock's dress with a shaking finger. "No, no, no! I'm definitely _not_ gonna wear that!"

"Correction, you aren't, but I am." Sherlock straightened the dress and studied himself in the mirror.

"It's so…" Molly searched through her mind for the suitable word to describe, "…slutty."

"No, it's not." Sherlock lifted his hair, showing the smooth neck, and considered which hair style would fit.

Molly looked at John for help with puppy eyes. John sighed. "Is this necessary?"

"Yes. All victims were brunettes, stunning, and wore clothes like this. Or, to put it like Molly, they were sluts."  
>Sherlock looked at them through mirror.<p>

"No! There was no way I can stand that. My whole body is almost naked." Molly suddenly wondered if this was some twisted karma for what she had done to Sherlock's body earlier.

Sherlock flashed Molly a patented winning smile.

Molly realized what Sherlock was trying to do and this only reminded her how pathetic and silly she had been. Instead of feeling the stupid butterflies flying inside her stomach, a fierce anger took over all of her control. "Don't you dare dress me like a whore!" Molly shouted furiously, "I swear I will get a butterfly on your butt!"

_Don't you dare manipulate me again, Sherlock._

Sherlock dropped the friendly face immediately. Damn it! How could he forget? He was not in his own body now. Of course she would be immune to his charm.

"Two people are dead." John interrupted, "Whoever the murderer is, he or she is not gonna stop until he or she is caught. And it's not _too _bad, Molly."

"It's 'Whomever', not 'Whoever'." Sherlock murmured.

John shot him a dead look.

Sherlock shrugged. Grammar was important, wasn't it?

"Think about those innocent people, Molly."

Thank you, John! Finally, the morality was useful. Sherlock wanted to clap his hands in victory.

Molly seemed uncertain even after hearing John's words.

"It's just for one night." Sherlock's voice took on a whine.

Molly eventually, and reluctantly, agreed. No matter how mad she was at Sherlock, somehow she always ended up doing exactly what Sherlock wanted. _This is the last time_, Molly thought, but later she remembered she promised herself that last Friday, last Tuesday, the beginning of September and…

"Molly, pay the bill using the credit card from the left breast pocket." Sherlock dismissed her without a blink, "Don't forget to sign it as 'Mycroft Holmes'."

"Okay." Molly hoped whomever this Mycroft person (his brother, father, whomever) would not accuse her of being accomplice of a credit card fraud.

Seeing Molly run away like a rabbit, Sherlock asked John, "You may speak free now since she's gone. What do you think?"

"I'd suggest some black leather boots, Sherlock." John crossed his fingers, praying that Molly was not hearing this. "Molly is not slutty enough."

On the other side of the shop, Molly was writing down M-Y-C-R-O-F-T, when it suddenly crossed her mind that she was indeed a push-over.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Leaning against the door, John sipped his cup of tea and watched the drama in the living room, feeling content.

Everything was great. There was no more head in the fridge, no more shooting on the wall, and no more bloody violin in the middle of night. He was seeing someone and it was promising.

John supposed that he should feel bad for Sherlock and Molly's "little accident". But he didn't.

He must be a really awful person to even think like that.

"You look great in those grungy boots," Sherlock said, while putting some suspiciously smelly cosmetics onto Molly's face. Even though John could smell it from far behind - for the love of God- he decided not to question it.

"You mean YOU look great," Molly complained and pointed at Sherlock. "I can't believe you have more make-up on than I normally wear."

John tried to hide his smile. It might not have occurred to Molly that she'd expressed her disagreement more in an hour than she had done for the whole time she'd known Sherlock. John suspected that it was possibly because Sherlock no longer looked as intimidating as he usually did. Which made Molly more relaxed around him, and therefore allowed her to act more like herself.

"The retro look is trendy." Sherlock shrugged, "Ask John."

"Nice try, Sherlock." John rolled his eyes. No, he would rather stay out of this show, thank you very much.

"How are things going with Mary?" Molly asked as she looked into the mirror.

"Quite well." John grinned as he thought of Mary. "She's on shift tonight."

"So you can come tonight, right?" Molly suddenly lit up, "Can we switch, please?"

John was about to respond but Sherlock cut him off. "Stay still," Sherlock ordered as he tilted Molly's chin and added two more brushes of make-up on her face. "John will watch the monitors indoors due to the gunshot of a certain somebody."

To be honest, John had recovered quite well. But he somehow felt that Sherlock enjoyed Molly's company more than he realized. Or Sherlock was messing with Molly on purpose. Either way, it should be the consulting detective's job to figure it out.

He, on the other hand, should get some popcorn for tonight.

* * *

><p>"Think about the victims" they said.<p>

"It's only for one night, it will be over soon," they said.

_Bollocks. _

This was exactly how Molly felt as she was shivering outside the bar. The shabby clothes did nothing to protect her from the chill.

_How come Sherlock gets to pimp MY body around and I'm stuck here, nearly freezing to death?_

A young girl came out of pub and threw some coins in front of Molly.

"What?" Molly looked down in confusion, "I'm not…I'm not really a…"

_A homeless guy!_

"Sherlock, your guy is moving towards the door. Molly, he will reach your position in ten minutes," John's voice announced through the earplug.

"Copy that."

"Copy that? What is this? An American crime show?" Sherlock blurted out.

"Oh. Really? Judging by the way you scared those men away, I thought this was a sit-com." Molly was definitely not in her best mood. Sherlock was driving her nuts.

Could somebody please remind her why she had a crush on Sherlock in the first place, that arrogant, self-centered, cheeky…

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John sounded worried.

The next thing Molly heard was a series of gunshots and shrill screaming from the crowd.

"Molly, he's got a gun and he's coming towards you," Sherlock shouted.

People rushed out of the bar. "Which one, Sherlock?" Molly could see neither Sherlock nor the suspect.

"The one in the suit."

"They are all in suits!" Molly panicked. _Oh please don't let me screw this up._

Then Molly spotted Sherlock, who ran and then turned left.

Molly chased after him.

"Sherlock, something was wrong outside the east corner of the bar," John tensed up.

"Not now, John," Sherlock breathed heavily.

Molly was running as fast as she – technically Sherlock - could and caught up with him easily. She was in Sherlock's body and Sherlock was in a dress, after all. Her body – well, Sherlock's – was better equipped for running.

The crowd had scattered so it was easier to spot the person who Sherlock was after.

A driver angrily shouted "Maniac!" as his car nearly ran over Sherlock, who slid across its bonnet as if he was in a Bond movie.

"Sorry!" Following Sherlock, Molly apologized while she ran across the street, not slowing down and ignoring the car horns.

The suspect looked back and noticing Sherlock and Molly were getting closer, he started shooting.

The first instinct that came to Sherlock's mind was to push Molly away…

…into the trash.

"What the hell?" Molly cursed as she tried to get up from from the garbage.

She was so cold that she couldn't feel her toes. She stank so much that she temporarily lost the ability to smell. Her landlord was a freaking peeping tom. She was the best at St. Barts but she was too nice. "Oh Molly dear, could you do the report for me?" "Hey Molly. Mrs. Taylor's gastric acid is all over the place, you wouldn't mind cleaning it up, would you?" Or..or… "You're okay with me putting my name before you on the research, right? I have been your tutor for years." The man she had loved for ages would only look at her, really look at her, when his storage of fingers or eyeballs was not enough. The man she hoped she could begin a new life with turned out to be dysfunctional psychopath.

She was a nice person but she was not a mouse.

No, she would take no more bullying or being lied to.

Molly took one of her shoes off and threw it at the fleeing suspect.

The shoe hit the suspect precisely and accurately and knocked the man down.

Sherlock looked back at her with a particular smirk. "It's about time."

Molly could hear her own blood rushing through her ears but she had to agree with Sherlock on this. "Retro look is trendy, isn't it?"

"I'm always right, am I not?" Sherlock grabbed the man's wrists and handcuffed him, "Who am I kidding? You know me."

Molly was seriously considering hitting Sherlock's cocky face with her other shoe.

But since it was technically her face, she decided against it.

* * *

><p><em>George Chapman<em>

_38 years old. _

_Polish. _

_Has a mistress._

_Wait!_

_Three mistresses._

_Blah, blah, blah._

_Dull. Dull. Dull_

Sherlock deduced the suspect as he searched the man. He raised the man's hands and smelt them. "Interesting."

"What is it?" Molly asked, stepping around him, looking confused. Sherlock nodded at Chapman's fingers, watching Molly's action curiously.

"If his fingers smell like poop, I swear I'm going to hit you, Sherlock." Molly sighed and took a sniff.

'_Somebody is still high on adrenalin'_ he thought while he waited patiently.

"Ethanol?"

"Close." Sherlock's lips pursed a little. "Methanol."

Molly widened her eyes immediately, "Really? Does that mean he's…I mean, is it possible?"

The ghost of a smile played around Sherlock's lips.

Molly Hooper might never be like him, but she could come close.

On the other side of the street, John looked down at a woman's body, frowning.

* * *

><p>When Sherlock and Molly arrived at the crime scene, the police had already roped it off. Curious bystanders were pointing and gossiping.<p>

_Camera coverage? None. _

_Footprint? Contaminated._

_Witnesses? A lot. _

_Useful Witnesses? None._

There were reporters swarming about, their cameras busily flashing. But they were soon escorted off.

Great. The last thing he needed.

John waved at them. The man beside him didn't seem pleased. "Sherlock, Molly, this is Detective William Thick. Detective," John turned to the man and pointed at them "Sherlock, Molly."

_What an appropriate name!_

"Good evening." William Thick flattered Sherlock, "What is a beautiful lady like you doing here in the middle of the night?" He kissed Sherlock's hand. Sherlock bared his teeth in response but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"I'm a pathologist. I think I might be a bit of help." Sherlock played his role perfectly. He, almost forcefully, removed his hand from the detective's grasp and wiped the back of it on his dress.

"Honey, let men do their work. You should go back and have some beauty sleep."

Was stupidity contagious? Sherlock frowned.

Molly coughed.

"And… this must be Mr. Sherlock Holmes." William Thick turned back, "I've heard about your work. It's quite promising," he sneered, "for an amateur."

"Thank you for your service." Detective William Thick gestured to take George Chapman away, "My team will take it from here."

Sherlock had to keep back a snort every time he thought about the word "Detective".

"Where's Lestrade?" Molly asked.

"Considering the current situation, the Yard fears that Detective Lestrade might not be competent at this case. To be honest, I'm not surprised. "

Sherlock was sure that the only thing William Thick could beat Lestrade at was at having an enormous ego.

"Now, boys, if you will excuse me," the detective crossed the barrier, "go and play your detective games somewhere else, adults gotta work."

He then spoke to Sherlock in a completely different manner before dashing off, "Sorry. A murderer needs to be interrogated. This case could be closed at any time. Call me maybe?"

Sherlock shot a glance at Molly, who'd gone pale and clenched her fists, and then at John, who was obviously worried and kept winking warnings at him. He grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"Crush him, Molly." Sherlock face was blank and in a low voice so that only Molly and John could hear, he instructed, "Show him that you are the one with power. People won't respect you unless you insult them and show them that you are superior to them."

"Really? That's your advice on 'How to Be a Sherlock Holmes?" John couldn't believe him.

Sherlock ignored John and stepped closer to Molly. "You know how much you want to kick that jerk in the ass."

"If Molly hit an asshole every time she met one, you wouldn't be standing here, Sherlock." John looked around to see if anybody was paying attention to them.

"He insulted your job and your gender." Sherlock whispered into Molly's left ear like the serpent tempting Eve to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge.

"Doesn't that sound like someone we know?" John grabbed Molly by the elbow and away from Sherlock.

John was such a spoilsport.

"He was arrogant and condescending. He acted as if he was better than anyone." Sherlock's eyes twitched.

John pretended to think, "And you don't?"

"No. I really am better than anyone else. There is a difference." Sherlock rolled his eyes at John.

He shouldn't have brought John along. John was getting in his way. Couldn't he just have a little bit of fun from time to time?

"Enough!" Molly shouted. "Stop playing the 'angel and demon' thing on me."

Their argument raised some attention. William Thick gave them a warning glance.

John shut up but Sherlock had never been the kind of person to let things go that easily.

"He kissed YOU. And he had very, very, very wet lips." Sherlock smirked, knowing that this would certainly get to her.

Molly widened her eyes. She was silent for a few seconds.

"It's just a hand…" John argued weakly but he was interrupted by Molly, who determinedly stalked towards the policeman.

"Detective William Thick!"

Sherlock had seen her with that a-man-pissed-me-off-and-then-I-did-his-autopsy look once and was glad that this time he was not on the receiving end.

"George Chapman is not the killer you are looking for."

Detective Thick turned around in surprise, "He shot at people, in public. Does that look like an innocent man to you?"

"How stupid are you? He couldn't be here while he was running on the other side in front of hundreds of people."

"But…"

"Check his nails and the drink his companion had at the bar." Everyone was staring at Molly but she didn't care, "You have a murderer under custody, just not the murderer you are looking for."

"Who is he then?" Detective Thick asked.

"The notorious Borough Poisoner," Molly continued, "That was why he panicked when he was questioned about a woman he met. He thought we were digging into the crimes he did."

Sherlock and John followed after Molly. While Molly was furiously explaining to the detective, Sherlock knelt down and checked the body. Nobody bothered to stop him.

_Catherine Eddowes_

_46 years old_

_One close and clean shot at the spine_

_Had to be during the chaos_

Sherlock contemplated the body lying on the ground. He then got up and nodded at John and Molly. John left to hail a cab. Sherlock, Molly and Detective Thick followed.

"If I were you, detective," Molly added, "I would go back and gather evidence on George Chapman and hope that he will lead you to the murderer you're looking for. It would be a far more intelligent thing to do than sleeping around with different women. Your wife would be so disappointed."

Detective Thick's jaw dropped open.

A cab slowly pulled over.

"Good night, sir."

John got in the front passenger seat while Molly and Sherlock sat in the back seats.

Once the doors were closed, Sherlock couldn't help but ask, "How did you know he was having an affair?"

Molly blushed. It seemed she was back to being her usual self.

She shrugged, "Everyone in the yard knows that but nobody talks about it."

Sherlock chuckled.

John shot them a very disappointed look from the front seat.

* * *

><p>AN: Many thanks to Doris's beta-reading for this chapter (LJ: ditsypersephone). Guys. Check out her fics. They are marvelous.<p> 


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The first thing Sherlock said to them when they stepped into the lab was:

"Molly, I need your breasts."

John put a hand on his chest as if he just had a stroke or a heart-attack. Calmly, Molly put down her stuff on the bench, and turned to Sherlock, "Good morning to you, too, Sherlock."

"It is urgent that you grant permission to your boobs to me."

"First of all, Sherlock, have you looked down? They are right there under your nose, now. Secondarily, what the heck?"

"Please, don't be mad, Molly. Sherlock doesn't mean to be rude. I'm sure he was just joking." John laughed dryly and then gave a Sherlock a cutthroat, lip saying "Not cool."

Clearly Sherlock ignored him. "Ever feel like a breast augmentation?"

John face-palmed. He _overestimated _Sherlock's people skills.

"Thanks, Sherlock. That's exactly what every woman dreams to hear." Molly satirized.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" John attempted to saving Sherlock from receiving a sexual harassment complaint, "Out with it."

"Like I said, I want her boobs, bra buddies, melons, love muffins or whatever you common people call nowadays."

John blinked in confusion. He had wagered on these two kids getting it on one day. But he hadn't a clue that the courtship already started. Was he missing something here?

"What on earth would you need them for?" Molly frowned.

_Well_. John could think of a thing or two but he wasn't if Molly would be happy to hear.

"I need them for an undercover." Sherlock explained, "I'm gonna disguised as a client looking for a new way to please my husband."

"I thought you were working on the Reaper case." John sat down.

"I was. But right now, I think I need a break."

"By giving my boobs a pair of salty water bags?" Molly stood with hands on her hips.

John would like to correct that salty water was no longer used. But considering how pissed off Molly looked, he decided to just sit back and watch the tensed drama between the two.

"By looking into the death of a woman named Amber Taylor who was obsessed with breast augmentation." Sherlock took the sheet off and revealed the corpse.

"Oh my god! Where are her… Oh my god!" Molly couldn't believe what was in front of her and screamed. Even John was stunned by the brutality towards the body.

"What's so special about Amber Taylor's breast that the killer felt the need to remove them?" Sherlock pointed at the victim's chest, "Naturally, the plastic surgeon and nurses who knew what was going on inside her have the biggest suspect."

"Fine. Fine. Do whatever you like." Molly couldn't bother to protest, and moved all the paper piled up at the corner of the desk to her, "The paperwork is not going to write itself so I will just stay here, then."

Sherlock looked a bit surprised.

John asked, "Don't you want to go?" He thought Molly had been having fun recently.

"Not really. The past few days running after you two made me realize that desk work suits me better." Molly answered, opening the folder, "Keep an eye on him, won't you, John?" She then blinked, "Well, technically, on me."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"On a second thought, you know what? Don't." Molly added immediately.

John laughed.

* * *

><p>"I heard that you wanted to see me." Mycroft Holmes crossed his legs on the couch, "I'm surprised, to be honest, Sherlock…" He paused for a second, "Or should I say, Miss Hooper?"<p>

"Dr. Hooper, actually. Though I never corrected you in the past, I think it would be best if we make that clear." Molly pulled some tea into Mycroft's cup.

"Of course." Mycroft took the cup and added one sugar in it, "I assume that my brother isn't aware of our meeting."

"Right now, he was probably busy showing off my boobs and his deduction skills." Molly handed a portfolio to Mycroft, "These are Sherlock's and my medical examination reports including both before and after the body-swap."

Mycroft skimmed the paper, "Good. I will have my people look into them."

"Thank you."

"I can see why Sherlock tends to keep me out. He is way too proud to look for my help." Mycroft put the portfolio away, "What I don't understand is why you come to me?"

"Because I want everything to go back to normal and Sherlock said you are basically the government?"

"Why do you act against Sherlock's intention? Please pardon me for being upfront, that's a first for you. I expected that being _Sherlock _might resolve your little sentiment on my brother but I didn't see that you would be against his decision." Mycroft drank his tea while maintaining eye-contact with Molly.

"I'm not against him. Going back to normal as soon as possible is in both of our best interest. I'm just… less patient." Molly confessed and shrugged her shoulders, "I'm still me, with less tolerance of Sherlock's immaturity."

"And my brother's face." Mycroft added before he stood up, "I'm afraid I have to excuse myself now. Thank you for your tea, Dr Hooper."

"I look forward to seeing you again." Molly smiled.

Mycroft smiled back and before exiting the door, he said, "Any chance that you would like visit mother? Mummy would be thrilled to see a polite and friendly _Sherlock_ who knows how to make tea."

* * *

><p>Personally speaking, he would give it a five out of ten.<p>

Hiding heroin in the filling to pass security check was creative but killing the partner in crime was just cliché. Seriously, if the surgeon didn't want others to know, cutting the evidence off was definitely not a good way to clean up. It was like opening hands to the air and saying, "Something wrong with her boobs. Figure it out."

It took him an afternoon to solve the whole thing. He was getting slow and he blamed it on Molly's brain. He respected Molly, okay? But her brain capacity wasn't as good as his.

After watching the murderer getting into the police car, Sherlock took out his phone and slide to unlock.

_John shall be at home soon, possibly with his girlfriend. Arm yourself. SH_

_Good to know. M_

_Anything good with the reports? SH_

_Nothing special. M_

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the texts. Usually Molly was much lively. She spent half an hour describing Alfred Jacob's subcutaneous fat when he texted her to order crispy duck for him. Replying with two or three words usually meant she wasn't in the mood for chatting. There were two explanations: Either he did something so terrible that even Molly couldn't handle, or she did something bad and feared that he would know if she talked too much.

Mentally checking the _To Do And Not To Do List_ kindly suggested by John, Sherlock was pretty sure that there was no way he had offended Molly, not this afternoon anyway.

If Molly really did something bad, he was also sure it would be small little thing which wasn't even worth mentioning. She did have a habit of being melodramatic. What harm could she have possibly done? She would tell him if it was needed.

Sherlock quickly dismissed his doubts.

Later in the evening, he was interrupted in the middle of testing Toby's reflex when his phone vibrated.

_Just met John's girlfriend, Mary. She is such a nice person. We are having dinner together. Yes, you are included. And no, there was no way you could avoid the meeting. M_

Sherlock sighed and raised Toby up, staring into Toby's grey eyes, "What did I do to get such punishment, huh?"


End file.
